


Little Soldier Boy

by KrustyKruton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A fair amount of that, Dean needs a hug from someone with wings, Homophobia, I think we all know who, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Short Chapters, Slow Build, how does one tag?, just a bit, sad????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrustyKruton/pseuds/KrustyKruton
Summary: Dean made a deal with John. Him for Sammy. He would be the best hunter he could be. He'd be good enough that Sam would never have to step foot into the life of a hunter. Sam grows up not knowing where his dad and brother runs off to. He knows nothing of the supernatural beings that surround him so, without his light presence to hold Dean down, to keep him from falling too far, what would he be like?





	Little Soldier Boy

"No, John."

Dean stood, feet apart and hands at the ready. He was prepared to fight for this. Sam slept behind him. The scratchy sheets of the most recent motel room tucked carefully around him. He resembled an adorable caterpillar curled up and safe inside it's cocoon. Dean wasn't going to let this happen.

Sammy was all the mattered to Dean and he'd be dammed if he let fucking John rip away the kid's innocence.

"What did you say to me, boy?"

His voice was rough, it always was. The reward for spending every waking moment smoking till the walls were black and drowning in drink. After too many fuck ups to count, Dean had learned how to stand tall when that voice came down on him, how not to flinch, but the anger radiating from the man that was meant to be his father but forfeited the position the second his mom died made Dean shake. 

It was for Sammy.

Always for Sammy. 

"You're not taking him."

He was young, a child in form, yet dean knew how to force his voice out till it resembled a command, how to growl out a threat and intimidate. Children learn from the adults around them, and though John spent more time with his guns than he spent with his kids Dean had still managed to pick up a few things.

John glared.

"This life you have, it's not for him. He's staying out of it."

He resisted the urge to twist the tattered hem of his shirt around his thumb, the fabric already fraying from nervous fingers. Dean folded his hands into white fists to hide the trembling. 

"Get out of my way, boy." 

That name. That name which was less like a name and more like a title. A title that snuffed out all that made him Dean, his brother's brother, his protector, as if his personality was a singular burning candle. It's so easy to simply lick ones fingertips and smother the light into smoke. Dean blew away on the breeze as the soldier to take his place. 

Not this time.

'Boy' would not surface.

"If you do this to him, you will never see him again. I won't let you even get close."

The sound of skin hitting battered flesh broke his stance and Dean fell. Blood bubbled past his lips, seeping through a hole in his cheek and he watched as John stepped over his quivering son. Dean coukd feel his eyes wet. He knew it shouldn't, not anymore, but what hurt was that he hadn't hesitated.

Too small hands gripped tight to too big feet, trying desperately to pull the man away from the child. His breath came quicker. As his voice rode in his desperation. 

"I swear!" He said as loud as he dared, not willing to wake the sleeping innocent. "Please! I'll be your soldier! I'll be good enough for the both of us! I'll do whatever you say! Just please, let him go!" 

John sneered down at him, his face morphing into something close to the Visage of the very things he hunts. "You're a fucking maggot, crawling on the ground and begging. "

"I am what you made me. I live to protect him and you're a threat."

Dean tightened his grip. John stared into him, searching for conviction. His mouth twitched.

"You'll do whatever I say."

"As long as it has nothing to do with Sam."

"You want him out."

"Yes."

The man smirked down at Dean and watched his soldier form.

"It'll find him one day."

Dean clenched his jaw.

"As long as it's not today."

They stared in silence, only the sounds of screeching cars and the occasional moans from too thin walls interrupting the long quiet.

"Get your things."

John shook the soldiers fingers free and stepped away. Dean stood and let loose a breath as John slammed the door and left, as what used to be a father finally freed his last and only child. He sifted his fingers through the hair of the child who might as well be his own and turned to pack his things. From the window John signaled for Dean to come and dissapeared from sight. 

Death breathed and shook his head.

The boy followed.


End file.
